


The Phantom of Hoa Lo Prison

by SegaBarrett



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, F/M, Gen, Vietnam War, prisoners of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An American soldier trapped in the Hanoi Hilton discovers that something or someone is living beneath the prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phantom of Hoa Lo Prison

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything or anyone from Phantom of the Opera. Much of this was inspired, including some specific incidents, by James and Sybil Stockdale’s book “In Love and War”, and also John McCain’s “Faith of my Fathers”. 
> 
> A/N: I wrote this back in high school, but it seemed to get a good reception back on FF.net, so I figured I would post it here too.

Perhaps you will try to explain away my story as the madness of a man imprisoned for far too long. Perhaps you will try to explain those strange events which unfolded at the Hoa Lo Prison as the work of American saboteurs. Perhaps I am mad, but yet the story is true. An American saboteur? No, my friend, no American POW could have performed these actions which were carried out by the man who haunted those desolate walls. I scarcely believe any human could have carried out these actions, but yet this man did. This man known only by the single name of “Erik”.

It was only later that I realized the true spelling of his name: E-R-I-K, for the tap code used for POW communications did not include the letter K. I do not remember when someone informed me of this spelling. It is one event on which my memory escapes me – whereas unfortunately, the rest of my imprisonment I can never erase from my mind.

I had been imprisoned in Hoa Lo, called the “Hanoi Hilton” by we Americans, for three years, when I first heard the voice. The voice was musical, gentle, but anguished. I wondered if this were the voice of another prisoner, being interrogated by our brutal guards, but the accent was clearly not American. It sounded French, and I could hear no argument or threats being exchanged… I could hear only the same words being repeated, again and again…

“Quy Lihn, Quy Lihn, Quy Linh…” I had no idea what these words meant, these words that were repeated for nearly an hour, with only a sound of a heart-wrenching cry in between. It was horrible to listen to, and I wondered… what was Quy Lihn, and who was this voice, this voice that seemed to be directly under my cell? Were there prisoners UNDERGROUND?

The next day, I tapped in confusion to Lt. Taftley, in the cell next to mine: HAVE YOU HEARD THE VOICE?

The reply: YES.

WHO IS IT?

I DON’T KNOW.

Then a pause. He tapped:

I HEARD A NAME. ERI(C/K).

AN AMERICAN?

NO.

VC?

FRENCH. I THIN(C/K).

UNDER THE PRISON?

YES.

WHAT IS QUY LIHN?

A GIRL.

At that moment, we were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and broke off communications. I sat and wondered… I wanted to pursue the matter more, to see what Taftley knew, but there was no chance. At night, when I went to sleep, I heard the voice again, that musical voice that intrigued, disturbed, and perplexed…

“Quy Lihn, do you love me? You must.” It was said in English, English spoken with a thick French accent.

“I do not know, Erik.” There was another voice! Indeed, a woman, a girl! This was a nearly broken English… A Vietnamese girl. Taftley had been right.

“How do you not know? I have given you a voice…”

“And yes… I sing for no one but you. Erik, Angel of Music.”

“The Angel who will bring you from this war.”

“The war will be over soon. The Americans will lose,” said the voice. Obviously, this statement was instinctive, as it was suddenly spoken in Vietnamese and not in the slow, practiced English of her earlier comments. I knew enough Vietnamese to know when I was being insulted, and I bit my lip at this, fighting the urge to yell curses down at that woman, that woman whose face I could not see but whose voice I recognized. A beautiful woman who worked as a cook in the prison, beautiful, the only woman besides an old cleaning woman whom we called Pincher on account of her nose. I believed Pincher had a teenage daughter, but I had only seen that girl fleetingly and knew she did not normally come to the camp.

“Phong Quan will lose,” the man’s voice cackled. There was a sickly pause from the woman.

“What do you mean?” she said in a quavering voice. English again.

“That man… that BOY... the important little son of Dung Anh’s,” the man’s voice spat.

“You think there is something between us?”

“Do you think that I am blind, Quy Lihn?”

“No… But you must know there is nothing between us!”

“Do not lie to me!”

“I do not lie to you, genius.”

“I love you, Quy Lihn… Your Angel of Music will always watch over you… So long as you do as I say. You will go to England… With me… To sing.”

“I will, Angel. To sing.” The conversation ended. Focusing, waiting for another sound, I fell asleep.

****

“BUTLER!” came the yell from the guard. I awoke with a start and found myself staring at the Vietnamese man we called Cat. He was the head interrogator, and I had proven myself a particularly difficult nut to crack, so to speak. I wondered briefly if he knew anything about this Erik man, but I was interrupted by another yell of, “BUTLER!”

“Yes?” I said in a tired voice.

“Come with me,” he said curtly. I groaned. There was no way I was in the mood for another one of what we called his “quizzes”. He led me into the interrogation room.

What did he want to know this time? I wondered frantically.

“Butler,” he said in his scratchy broken English. When he pronounced it slowly, it came out, “But-law.”

“Yes,” I said slowly, bracing myself.

“We are going to meet a famous actress… A Miss Carlotta Guidicelli… Have you heard of her?” My brain went blank. Carlotta Guidicelli was a singer and actress. On TV. I’d seen her a few times. Not very talented. More prima donna than anything else. And very anti-war. Obnoxiously anti-war. She had been rambling on television about the war since it started.

I was about to meet her. Oh, I could think of a few things to say to Ms. Guidicelli…

None of which I could say in front of Cat, if I didn’t want to be tortured into oblivion. I knew it was going to be a propaganda scheme, and I was not about to buy into this at all.

I straightened myself up and said as distinctly as I could in my wavering voice, “I will not go.”

Cat glared and responded, “You will. You will wait here, and we will come and fetch you. You will not make any problems. We will film you. If you do not comply, you will not like it.” He exited the cell, tossing me a razor. “Shave. You will be on TV and will confess your war crimes to the world.”  
Filming… what could I do… filming… filming… I had to show someway that I wasn’t being well-treated, but how to do that? How?

I looked at the razor. This would have to do. In a quick, unflinching motion, I drew it down my head, gasping at the sudden rush of blood. Cat took this moment to walk back in.

“YOU!” he yelled, “What… We can, we can deal with this… We will fetch you a hat.” He snatched the razor from my hands and dragged me out of the room.  
I was doomed. He marched me out to the field in front of the prison, forcing a hat onto my head.

“Miss Guidicelli!” I looked towards where Cat was gesturing and saw an exorbitantly dressed tall, vaguely attractive brown-haired woman gingerly making he way across the field, to my direction. Behind her was a gray-shirted cameraman, who was setting the large camera up on a tripod.

“Oh, hello, hello,” she said, looking at me, “Are you getting this all on tape?” She hit out a few singing notes and grinned ear to ear. “So! I see you’ve come to reason! To be against this unjust, unreasonable atrocity that we call the Vietnam War!” I bit my tongue.

“But-law?” prodded Cat. I wanted desperately to stall for time, but it seemed like I was screwed.

I choked out, “Y-ye…”

Suddenly the camera burst into flame. The cameraman screamed and shoved the tripod forward, causing the camera to fall. Carlotta screamed. I fell back. Cat desperately tried to restore order.

“It is okay, it is okay,” he said, waving his arms to fan the smoke off of the camera.

“Oh my GOD! What HAPPENED?!” Carlotta began to wave her arms in frantic motions, brushing the smoke off of her green dress.

“I believe it was just a malfunction,” said the cameraman.

“I absolutely hope so, Ubaldo,” she said, glaring in his direction.

“Miss Guidicelli, what else could it have been?” the cameraman said.

“What’s that on the ground?” the actress pointed to a small envelope that had seemingly fallen out of the broken video camera. She picked it up slowly, waving off a trail of smoke and taking out a scrap of paper. “It’s in YOUR language.” She handed it to Cat, who eyed it with a mystified look on his face. “What does it say?” she prodded.

“It says… It says ‘Tell Carlotta to leave immediately. If you do not, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur.’ It’s signed something that does not really translate well… ‘The ghost of the prison’, almost.” He turned around and pointed his finger at me, and hissed, “BUTLER! Did you write this? Did you blow up this camera?”

“No!” I said, “How could I have?” Inwardly, I felt a mix of relief and apprehension… The filming would not happen! But how would I get Cat to believe that I had not sabotaged the taping?

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Colonel Dung,” Carlotta said, “Who sent that note?” Cat flinched a bit, because prisoners weren’t supposed to know the names of the guards. I inwardly smirked at his last name being Dung – and then I made the connection… Colonel Dung must be Dung Anh…

The plot was thickening. As thick as blood.

“I don’t know, and I would prefer, Miss Guidicelli, if you would not call me that.”

“Oh, why?”

“The prisoners are not supposed to know our names… if they do, they could use them to organize covert operations,” he explained hastily. He glared at me. “This one, especially, used to be trouble.” Carlotta nodded dumbly, obviously buying into this blatantly false explanation.

“I understand,” she chirped. There was a pause. “Oh, I forgot, this is Ubaldo Piangi, my cameraman.” She gestured towards the unfortunate man, who was knelt on the ground attempting to revive his broken camera. He looked up shortly and gave a quick smile, before going back to his fruitless efforts.

“It’s broken, I’ll have to go back and get a new one.” He sighed. Cat was visibly frustrated, and glared in succession at Piangi, and then me.

“Don’t worry, Colonel,” Carlotta said, putting her fingers to her lips as she realized she shouldn’t say his name, “We can do this tomorrow! I’ll be delighted.” She shook his hand enthusiastically, and led Piangi off, away from the field. I did not know if she was going to wherever she was staying (obviously with better accommodations than ours) or to a car. She simply continued walking until she was a speck, walking on the setting Hanoi sun, followed by her loyal cameraman. I was alone with Cat.

“If that was you, But-law,” he hissed in my ear, “I will find out. I will, I will. But you have not put off the taping for long. It will happen tomorrow. Tomorrow. You will tell the world that you are sorry for your crimes against the Vietnamese people! Tomorrow.” I was led back to my cell.

As Cat disappeared, I desperately tapped the rhythm of “shave and a haircut” to Taftley. A second later, I heard his anxious reply, “two bits.”

I wondered how I could explain in the tap code all that had happened today, this unfolding mystery of the ghost of the Hanoi Hilton.

I simply tapped: I NEED TO DO SOMETHING.

ARE YOU O(C/K)?

YES… NO… NOT SURE.

WHAT HAPPENED? QUIZ?

NO, NO QUIZ…

I paused. Then I tapped: CARLOTTA.

A longer pause. 

He replied: ACTRESS? 

YES.

SHE’S HERE?

TAPE.

CONFESS?

Taftley had been known as another who would not confess to phony war crimes or cease communications… That’s how we’d both ended up at solitary. I had learned that he was a Naval Academy graduate, just like me, but he was lower in rank: I was a Captain, and he just a Lieutenant (all things considered, I had graduated four years before him.) He had been known in Annapolis for being a troublemaker, whereas I had been a top ten percent “goody-two-shoes” honor student. We were now two delinquents spending Saturday morning detention together, if you wanted to dilute the situation to that. He was using his “trouble-making” skills to rally the troops, and I was doing whatever I could to help him.

I tapped back: NEVER.

GOOD.

Footsteps. We stopped.

I fell back on the cell floor, my ear to the ground. Straining, I could vaguely hear the sound of a woman singing… Her voice was beautiful, and amazing, but not nearly the equal of the male voice which suddenly accompanied it… It seemed to be Erik and Quy Lihn again!

“That was almost beautiful,” said the male voice when the song ended, “But you must to better, if you are to be the most famous singer in all of England!”

“Carlotta Guidicelli was here, in the camp, today,” Quy Lihn said slowly, “I looked at her, I waved! Maybe I even called, I wanted to ask her how she got so famous, if she could give me some advice. But she didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, do not worry about Carlotta Guidicelli. And you don’t need advice from anyone but me.” An awkward silence.

“You are right, Angel. I do not need her.”

“Carlotta Guidicelli will be gone from the camp. The sight of her hurts my eyes. There will not be a famous singer in this area, while there is a much more deserving singer waiting in the shadows of this hell-hole.”

“But I will go to England!”

“With me. Not with Phong Quan.”

“I tell you, I tell you, Angel, there is nothing between us.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.” There was a short pause. Then, suddenly, a gut-wrenching scream from Quy Lihn. I tensed up… What had happened? Had the guards found them? Had Phong Quan found them?

“YOU,” boomed the voice of Erik.

“I… I… I…”

“Do you really wish never to leave this prison? Do you really wish never to leave this UNDERGROUND SEWER WHICH I CALL MY HOME?”

“Oh… Oh… No, no, I did not mean…” She began to mumble incoherently in Vietnamese, interchanging it with cries as Erik hissed furiously. After a few moments, he quieted, and the only sound that remained was the near-silent sobs of the young girl.

“Go,” Erik said sharply, “They will be looking for you.”

There was a stampede of hurried footsteps, and then nothing. I raised my head and looked around the cell – the underground drama seemed over with for tonight, but I still had to think of a solution to tomorrow’s taping. I needed to make some sort of injury to myself, and I needed to do it NOW. I peeked out the bars of the cell to the aisle. Suddenly, I saw my chance – a long piece of wood had broken off some sort of stool and was lying about a foot from the bars. I stretched as far as I could, but could not reach. I cursed to myself and considered the options.

In a burst of innovation, I ripped off my shirt. I figured it could work in a way similar to a chain – it could rope the wood. I tied the shirt together into a rope, and threw it out the space between the bars. It did not work exactly as I had planned, but it knocked the piece of wood into an angle that I could grab at. A minute later, I had my tool.

I would need to work fast, before a guard intervened. There was no mirror, so I would have to ensure that I was sufficiently disfigured… I began to bash the wood into my face, alternating between the blunt surface and the sharp end. I heard a smash that I assumed was my nose breaking, but there was no time to focus on the pain. Smash, smash, smash… I fell backwards and collapsed to the floor…

***

“BUTLER! BUTLER! BUTLER!” came a frantic scream I awoke… The view in front of my eyes was black and white… I groaned. Color began to seep into my eyes, but there was no relief in that. For what I saw in front of my eyes was Cat and one of his associates. I groaned again. “What have you done?” screamed Cat, shaking me furiously. I barely registered this, my head rocking back and forth as I attempted to remember what I was being yelled at for.

Oh, yeah. I had bashed my face in. That would also account for the searing pain all over my skull.

“What have you done?” Cat continued screaming. “What have you done?”

What, did he want an answer?

“We can’t do the video,” the associate said. Cat seemed ready to fly into a fury. He threw me backward into the wall of the cell.

“You will NEVER be released!” he yelled. He slammed the door and walked off, trailed by his associate.

I had won.

I wondered how bad my face looked, to throw Cat into such an unprecedented rage. I smirked. He had resembled a child who hadn’t gotten what he wanted for Christmas. My hand flew to my face. When I took it off, it was covered in blood.

I would have to tell Taftley.

For the moment, however, I allowed myself to slip back into unconsciousness. 

***

I awoke to whispered Vietnamese voices. I pressed my ear to the wall, concentrating to match my knowledge of Vietnamese with the words being said.

“He cannot… He cannot… Find us here.”

“What do you mean, Quy Lihn?”

“Erik! I have told you… Erik…”

“This cannot be, Quy Lihn… There is no Erik…”

“He told me…” the next sentence was unintelligible.

“Do not believe it…” The voices drowned off as they walked into the next room. I slinked back onto the floor as a guard walked by. He held a suspicious look on his face, and I worried that he was on to the covert communication between Taftley and I. I could not bear to be separated from my closest friend in this place. I had been separated from enough already. But the guard did not even look in my cell… He continued past it, stopping every few moments to cock his head to the side and seemingly listen at the floor. After about a minute of this, he disappeared from the site.

Suddenly, a tap from Taftley: CARLOTTA!

WHAT?

SHIRT FLEW OFF!

My eyes widened. HOW?

DON’T (C/K)NOW! I WAS THEIR NEW ‘CONFESS’.

CONFESS?

NO… CARLOTTA.

I SEE.

I heard a scream. We heard screams often, but this was not the same kind… This was a shocked scream… And, for that matter, a female scream!

I tapped quickly: WHAT?

GUARD!

“Oh my God, he’s dead, he’s dead!” I heard Carlotta scream. She seemed to be inside the camp! “He’s dead, he’s dead!”

Then I heard Cat’s consoling voice, “Miss Guidicelli, it is an accident, an accident! Please, do not walk further, we have dangerous men in this prison! Please, let me escort you outside.” She could still be heard loudly sobbing.

“How is it an accident? Are your guards normally found HANGED? One of those wretched men did this, and they’ll come for me next! I know it, the way they look at me!”

“Please, please, Miss Guidicelli, no one could ever wish harm on you. Please... This is just a horrible accident…” The voices drowned out as I collapsed back down in my cell. Hanged? A man had been hanged? How had this happened?  
But I knew how this had happened.

Erik.

***

After the guard was found hanged, everyone was separated and put in isolated cell blocks. I did not know if Taftley was dead or alive. Our chain of command was shattered.

After about three weeks, I was escorted into a huge hall, which seemed to be populated by the entire rest of the camp. Cat stood with his associates, toasting and seemingly celebrating something. Carlotta was grinning, flirting with the captors, flashing a knowing smile in my direction. I was confused – what had happened?

Then I heard Carlotta said, “Three weeks! No ghost! Hah! He must be gone! We are free, free, free!”

“Indeed,” Cat replied, handing her a bottle of wine. Off in a corner, a young man stood next to the woman I now knew to be named Quy Lihn… I supposed he was Phong Quan. I wondered if Erik had been killed by Cat and his cronies. I hoped not. Anyone who stood up against those guards! But then… why had that guard been hanged? And why the sabotage of the camera that could have hurt someone? Was that necessary? I sighed, the sides of my conscience arguing bitterly.

“You are probably wondering why you have been invited here,” said Cat, “And I simply say…” He smiled wryly, “Good behavior?” It was obvious that he was slightly liquored up. This wasn’t like him, at all. What was going on?

I saw Taftley standing in the corner of the room, and I rushed over to him.

“Taftley!” I said, gasping, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said, slicking back the white tuft of hair on his head, “I was worried about YOU. What’s going on? What’s with Cat’s party? Is this a propaganda ploy or what? And what the hell happened to your face?”

“It’s a long story… As for a propaganda ploy, I don’t see any cameras!” I said in amazement, “What the hell is he celebrating?” Taftley shrugged.

“Hell if I know!”

Suddenly, the room fell silent, and I looked around wildly.

“Hello, hello, Colonel,” said a voice. It was undoubtedly the voice of Erik! I turned in the direction of the voice and saw a tall, black-clothed, masked man… So this was him… He almost seemed to float across the room towards Cat. All of the prisoners fell silent, and to my amazement so did the guards… What kind of power did this man hold, or was this all simple shock?

“That’s him,” I whispered to Taftley, “Erik.”

“From back when! I remember hearing his name… That pretty chick was saying it.”

“Yeah… You’re the one who told me about him at first. I don’t know what’s going on, but apparently Quy Lihn – the pretty chick -, well, he’s in love with her, and she’s in love with a guy who I think is Cat’s son.”

“Do commies fall in love? Or do they just have arranged marriages?” he inquired. I shrugged.

“Who knows?”

Taftley grinned. “I think they all want to get married to Ho Chi Mihn.” I snickered. I stopped suddenly as Erik moved closer to Cat.

“Hello, hello… Have you enjoyed my notes?” Erik said, following it with a quick string of Vietnamese I couldn’t understand.

“What’d he say?” I whispered to Taftley. He shrugged.

“You’re going to give Quy Lihn a ticket to England,” Erik continued, “And you’re going to tape it, so you cannot deny it later. She’s going to come to England with ME.” He walked over and looked directly at Quy Lihn, over in the corner. “She is mine… My Angel.” The young man who was standing with Quy Lihn leapt up and said something in Vietnamese.

“Come closer, come closer,” said the masked man in a terrifyingly cheerful voice. The man took a step closer, and Quy Lihn jumped up and pulled him back, yelling at him in Vietnamese. He turned around to look at her, and my eyes strayed to them. When we both turned back in Erik’s direction, he was gone.

Cat turned to another guard and fired off something that I assumed to be along the lines of, “What the fuck was that?” and the guard gave a gesture to show that he didn’t know. Then, Cat turned to us.

“BACK IN YOUR CELLS!”

Apparently, the party was over.

Carlotta walked back up to Cat, as we were being escorted to our cells.

“Does this man… could he possibly… Could he be out to get… me?”

Cat hissed, “Do not flatter yourself.” He walked away angrily.

Back in my cell, I tapped three letters to Taftley: WTF?

Taftley replied with five: SHRUG.

We were in the dark… again.

***

About two days later, Cat called us out into the big room again.

“You are probably wondering,” Cat began again, this time in a much less enthused mood, “Why you have been invited here.” He gave a small, wry smile. “And the reason is to see off one of our own, Miss Quy Lihn, to England. Are you getting this, Mr. Piangi?”

Piangi nodded, toying with the camera and its stand.

“I hereby present Miss Quy Lihn with a plane ticket to England,” he said slowly, pulling out a ticket from his pocket, “Mr. Piangi, move closer, please.”

“Alright,” Piangi shoved the tripod toward Cat and Quy Lihn. A moment later, he cursed under his breath. “We’re out of film.”

“Fitting,” Carlotta complained, “You are hired, Ubaldo, to tape ME, not to tape THEM…” Cat put his finger to his lips.

“Remember. What we said earlier, Miss Guidicelli.”

“Go, Ubaldo,” sighed Carlotta, “Go and get more film.” He walked out of the room, and I stared at Taftley.

“Why are we here?” I whispered. He shrugged.

“It’s better than Cat’s Quiz Room.”

“Good point…” I looked towards the door, waiting for Piangi’s return. I blinked as a figure entered, but it was not short, stout Piangi… It was a tall, black-clothed man! I turned to Taftley to whisper what I’d realized, but I was interrupted by a sudden outburst by the masked figure…

“Quy Lihn! I love you! Be with me always, forever, please…” He pulled out a ring and slid it on the girl’s finger. She looked at him with a forlorn expression of incredible sadness… Then, she took a step forward and pulled off his mask.

Carlotta screamed and turned, slamming into the camera. Several prisoners ducked and turned away. The guards rushed forward to attack Erik. Cat, again, tried desperately to restore order.

The man’s face was like something dead, his skin was the color of autumn leaves, rotting away stretched over his face, his nose missing and being replaced by a black gaping hole which made visible a sharp strand of bone. His eyes were yellow as well, and they were the most horrible, for in his eyes were the most clear look of despair I had ever seen in any human being… My first reaction was to scream, my next was to cry, but all I could do was stare, stare, stare…  
Suddenly, the floor beneath Quy Lihn and Erik dropped out.

I looked around me desperately for Taftley… He was lost in the mob…

I screamed as loudly as I could, “Captain Michael Butler, Captain Michael Butler, Captain Michael Butler…” And, having ingrained my name in the head of anyone listening, I thrust myself forward into the hole in the floor.

I felt the ground beneath me disappear, and I let out a yell as I landed on my side on what felt like stone. In a sudden burst of strength, I lifted myself off and looked around me… I seemed to be in some sort of hollow tunnel. Behind me was a dead-end, so I ran forward, watching water drip down from above onto the floor of the tunnel. I heard footsteps far in front of me and raised my eyes to look… It was Cat’s son. I ran to keep up with him, and we swerved around what seemed to be a lake… Still no sign of Erik and the girl…

We ran… ran… ran… suddenly he stopped. I brought my foot out in front of me and nearly crashed into the young man. I looked up and realized he had stopped because we were standing before a gate. Not noticing I was there, the young man yelled out something in Vietnamese. I looked through the cracks in the gate and saw Erik and the girl.

He had his arms around her, holding her to his side, and he yelled out, “Quy Lihn, my Angel, your lover has arrived! He wishes to see you, and he will!” Suddenly, the gate lifted. I backed up and slid behind a crevice next to the gate, so I could not be seen.

Slowly, Cat’s son began to speak in slow, labored English, “Free… her… she is to be my wife… Villain, free her!”

Erik took a step towards Phong Quan, and reached into his pocket.

The young man began to call out, “Free…” as, without warning, a lasso wrapped itself around his neck… It was almost magic… But it was not magic. It was Erik.

“A choice, a choice, my beautiful Angel of Music!” Erik exclaimed, “Let me take you from this place that will never give you what you desire… Can it be that you cannot look beyond a face? I know I have…” His voice broke as he looked in anger at Cat’s son… “I know that he may be young and handsome, but what is it? What is it to marry the son of a high-ranking prison guard, when the things I’ve taught you! The things I’ve taught you could bring you happiness… And, oh, you could bring me happiness.”

“Villain!” hissed Quy Lihn, “The things you do… They are evil. You have betrayed and deceived me… You prey on me, the little Vietnam girl in poverty, you’re evil, evil…”

“How much evil would I be if I were to pull on this lasso?” Erik inquired, snickering and giving the rope a short yank for effect. “Make… a… choice… Live with me, give me a chance, one chance… A second thought… But if you will not give me a chance, then, then I will not give a second thought to this rope!” He yanked it again, falling down on his knees and looking up at Quy Lihn.

The young girl took a long gaze at Phong Quan, and then moved towards Erik. She gently took her hand, pulled him up and turned his face, looked into his yellow eyes and pressed her face into his, giving him a long, passionate kiss. I sucked in my breath… Why wasn’t I doing anything?

Then again, was there really anything I could do?

Erik’s eyes clouded over, and he looked back at the young Vietnamese woman.

“Quy Lihn,” he said slowly, “I… I…” He paused and collapsed on his knees yet again… “Go! Go! Take him and go, go, go…” He dropped the rope and tossed it in Phong Quan’s direction.

Phong Quan threw the rope off of his neck and looked around, as if terrified of a new ambush. Quy Lihn slowly walked away from Erik, quickening her pace as she arrived at her lover. They ran through the tunnel, the young man pulling her alongside him… A moment later, they had disappeared…

Erik lay, sobbing, and I was suddenly presented with another dilemma… Where the hell was I to go without being sighted? Great, Butler, you’ve gotten yourself in another situation where you’re possibly going to get yourself killed.

I heard footsteps in the distance, and Quy Lihn appeared. Erik raised his eyes with an obvious sense of desperate hope… I hoped, too… I hoped that he would be distracted enough with his new girlfriend to let me escape from… wherever this was…

She approached him, and raised her hand, pulling off a ring. She handed him the ring, then walked away without a word.

I sucked in my breath again. That was cruel.

I shifted in my spot. Erik looked up. Shit. He’d noticed something amiss. I would have to run for it. I looked around desperately for somewhere to go…

“YOU!” Erik yelled. I whipped around to face him fully, but his eyes, which had been filled with indignant anger, changed. They became filled with a strange sort of kind sympathy, and I could not understand why… “You… you…” he said again, slowly. He reached out his hand and extended his finger until it nearly touched my face. “You,” he said slowly, “You would… disfigure yourself?”

I suddenly realized what he was staring at… my scarred face… the stool! I couldn’t think of what to say, my mind reeled, I finally sputtered out, “How did you get under the prison?”

Erik chortled. “What a question to ask,” he said, reverting back to his cynical demeanor. “I’ll give you the short version, for we must go soon.”

“Go where?” I asked, but he put his finger to his lips.

“I was born in France. Back when the French were attempting to re-colonize Vietnam, I lived here, spending my days at the beautiful Opera House. After they failed to reestablish control, I slipped into this beautiful abode right here, and that is where I have been since. I fell in love… but forget all that now, and forget me. We need to go. You need to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to escape from this prison.”

“I can’t leave Taftley behind.”

“You’re going to have to,” he said stiffly, “Here, put these on.” He reached behind a desk and pulled out a North Vietnamese uniform. “And take these,” he pulled off two candles from the edge of the platform, and blew them out. “And matches,” he tossed me a small package. We began to hear noise in the distance, and I knew it was the guards looking for Erik, and possibly me.

“Come on, I’m not going to wait.” He began to run through the tunnel, and I struggled to keep pace with him… We jumped off the platform into the lake, and Erik jumped onto a small gondola that was equipped with an oar. He dragged me into it and began to paddle. Suddenly we arrived at a dead end. He gracefully hopped out of the gondola and pushed on the wall, revealing a secret door.

“Come,” he barked. I followed him through the door, and we continued running for what seemed to be an infinite amount of time… Suddenly I heard a sound. Blare, blare, blare… It was a plane… I looked up and saw the markings of an American plane.

I took the candles out, lit them, and desperately began to signal my plane’s number. I ripped off the shirt, realizing they might think I was a NVA, and began to alternate the number with the Morse code of USA… USA, 693, USA, 693… The plane swooped down. It somehow landed without incident in the middle of the clearing. The door opened, and a tall, young man with brown hair and green eyes walked out.

“Captain Michael Butler,” I said quickly, adding my serial number. “And this,” I turned around to where Erik had been standing… But he had vanished. “He was…”

“Come on,” said the man, leading me into the plane… I was free… But it wasn’t over…

***

It would never be over. As I stood, accepting the Medal of Honor from President Nixon, looking out on the audience and seeing Lieutenant Taftley, wanting to ask him if he knew.

Wondering what Erik would say if he were standing in on this ceremony. Wondering where he went. According to Nixon, the NVA had been amazed at my reappearance in the United States, as they had found a disfigured man in the jungle, dead from what looked like an illness.

But I don’t accept that.

There was no way this man Erik would die… He would trick death just as he had tricked Cat and Carlotta.

I know you won’t believe the things I’ve told you. If you know all this, Butler, you will say, why couldn’t you lead American forces to the Hanoi Hilton and help them break out your friends?

I don’t have an answer to that.

Perhaps… Perhaps Erik does.


End file.
